


Seven Days in Dorne

by Aviss



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, No Twincest, Tournaments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23040193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviss/pseuds/Aviss
Summary: Brienne needs to marry or lose Tarth and the title of Evenstar. Jaime needs to find a wife or his father will do it for him. A Tournament in Dorne might be the answer to their problems.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand
Comments: 96
Kudos: 223





	1. The Evenstar

**Author's Note:**

> I got given the title by WildingofTarth during in tumblr as a challenge and I had to say what story I'd write with it. I then left it with the rest of my files in gdocs until I found it this week and the story refused to leave my head.   
> This is going to be a much gentler universe than the canon one, you'll get where it diverges in the next chapter but it's a lot earlier than I've previously done.

Brienne knew it was bad when the servant retrieved her during her training.

The sun was still a quarter shy of its zenith, the heat rising from the ground but not yet stifling and oppressive, making sword training an exercise in endurance. She usually trained from dawn until it became too hot to breathe during the summer, and though the temperature had fallen a bit in the last moons they were still very much in summer.

"Lord Selwyn has requested your presence in his solar, my lady," the servant announced when Brienne stopped the swing of her sword to turn to him. 

"Thanks, Galen," she said, wiping the sweat from her brow with her hand. "Please tell my father I'll wash up and will be with him shortly."

"Lord Selwyn has asked that you go immediately," Galen insisted his voice firm, and Brienne felt her gut clench. Her father was rarely in a hurry for anything.

She put the sword away and followed Galen, all the way wondering what bad news awaited her when she arrived at the solar. Probably another betrothal. There had been hints lately that her father wanted her married, that he wanted grandchildren and he was feeling his years and growing concerned at the lack of heirs; Brienne was already seven and ten and would see her next nameday in a moon's turn, women her age were already mothers, and though she felt a pang of regret sometimes when she saw the babies and toddlers around town, she knew it wasn't in the cards for her.

She had hoped that after the last attempt to find her a husband, when Wagstaff had left Evenfall with broken bones and a broken betrothal, her father was convinced that she was unmarriable and would be better left to her own devices. She was not made for marriage and ladyship, she had known that the moment she had been given her first and only rose, though she hated disappointing her father. 

He was sitting by the window overlooking the training yard, a letter in his hand and a frown on his face.

"Father," she greeted him, announcing her presence. 

Her father looked up, lips twitching up in a shadow of a smile when he saw her. Brienne frowned, had he looked so frail and old the night before? Here, under the light coming through the long windows, he looked sickly and wane, so unlike the big and sturdy man she was expecting to see that she froze at the door.

"My dear child, come in and close the door," he said, his tone uncharacteristically serious. 

Brienne only grew more concerned, though she did as she had been told without question. "Are you feeling alright, father?" She asked, taking the seat next to him, her hands on the table. "You don't look well." 

He didn't, and Brienne couldn't believe just one night had made that much difference in her father, she had seen him the night before for supper. No, not the night before, Brienne realized with a jolt. It had been three nights previous because he'd been with Lyllette, his latest companion, and Brienne and she did not get along, so Brienne had been taking her supper late in the kitchen to avoid her snide comments and envious looks. Lyllette knew her days with Selwyn were numbered and resented Brienne, who would always call Evenfall home. She had seen her father, it was impossible not to when they lived in the same castle, but they had both been busy with their duties and she had not noticed any changes in him in those brief moments.

He sighed, his hands clenching around the letter in his hands. "I am unwell, my child," he said, his voice weary. The fear of this being about a new betrothal dissolved under the real terror of her father being ill. He wouldn't have called her if he had just caught a chill. "I'm afraid the maester confirmed what I already suspected, my heart is failing me."

"How long--" she choked out, unable to finish the question. 

He didn't need her to. Carefully, as if she was the one who was fragile, her father took her hand in his. It was warm and callused and as big as hers, still as comforting as they had always been. "I have been feeling tired for some time, but it has been the last fortnight I have lacked the energy to do much and I knew, my father and his father before him had a weak heart. Mine has held out for longer, but I knew it could happen. I didn't want to worry you."

She was worried now. "Is there anything the maester can do?" She asked, hoping her father would say yes, the maester had found a miraculous concoction and he just needed to rest for a while. 

He shook his head. "I'm to pass on the mantle of Evenstar sooner rather than later," he admitted, his voice full of regret, "and rest like a feeble old man. No more chasing pirates off our coasts, no more hunting trips, no more setting sail." Brienne could not imagine her father not doing any of those things, they had been more than his duty, he had enjoyed them and never failed to smile when he came back. "I'm to manage my correspondence like the fat old lords in the mainland, take care of my diet and not exert myself physically, and still he doesn't think I'll see more than one or two namedays." He squeezed Brienne's hand, a tear splashed on the table next to her fingers followed by many more. "Don't cry, child, this is the way things should be. I have buried too many of my children for me to be sad that I'll get to go before you." 

"You're still young, father," Brienne protested, her voice wet with the tears she was trying to swallow. 

It was true that her father was approaching his sixty nameday, his hair was white where it still remained on the sides of his head and his beard was fully white now, but he was still as tall and broad as he had always been, his eyes were still as kind and intelligent as always and his hands warm, though maybe not as strong.

"Not as much as I used to be, not that it matters, my heart won't beat forever and you have to become the Evenstar sooner than I had hoped." He looked down then at the letter and let go of Brienne's hand to smooth the creased parchment. 

"I will, father," she said, straightening her spine. She was ready for it if it was what her father needed. "If it buys you a day of peace and of life, I'll take over all your duties on the morrow."

He gave her a real smile at that, tinged with sadness as it was. "I know you would, and I couldn't ask for a better daughter." Fresh tears stung Brienne's eyes, she knew her father's words for the lie they were. He could have had a better daughter, one who gave him grandchildren instead of headaches. He did have a better son before the waves took him. She swallowed her tears and her words of protest, this wasn't about her. "But it's not as simple. You have to marry."

"What do you mean?" She had, for one unkind moment, the thought all this was a ploy to trick her into marriage. Her father would never stoop that low, though, and he did look sickly. 

His hands smoothed the letter again, his eyes dropping to it. "The Evenstar can't be unmarried, it's an old law from the time when the Evenstar was King and it has never been revoked. Unless you marry before my death, the title and the duties will be passed to cousin Sermyn."

Brienne looked horrified at her father. Sermyn was an old miser of a man who was her father's cousin, not hers, and who had spawned seven children each more horrible and spiteful than he was. They had always resented Selwyn and Brienne for the title and the lands, and if they got their hands on them they would mismanage the island and probably bankrupt it. Not to mention kick Brienne out of her own home. "Can't the law be changed? It's a relic of an old era."

Her father shook his head. "I wrote to King Rhaegar when I found out I was ill, but I have not got any answer and I can't guarantee he will do as we request."

King Rhaegar wasn't his father, that was true, but neither he nor his hand, the mighty Tywin Lannister, would care for a little island in the narrow sea and the troubles of a very minor noble house. "How long has this been in your head, father?" No wonder he looked so tense and weary. He had kept this from her to save her worries and dealt with it on his own. 

"I've had time to think about it, I didn't want to say anything until I had some solution to present to you." He looked at her again, though his fingers had not ceased their movement over the letter. "I promised you to not force you onto another betrothal and I will keep my word." Brienne let out a breath she had not known she was holding. "I wrote to Doran Martell, who I can still count among my friends, and consulted him." Brienne opened her mouth to protest but her father silenced her with a shake of his head. "Let me finish, child." He said sharply and she closed it again, chastised. "Prince Oberyn is yet unmarried and Doran is willing to arrange a betrothal and marriage between the two of you if you accept. It would be a marriage of convenience, nothing more. Oberyn needs to marry a highborn lady and produce legitimate heirs, but he's not likely to change his ways or leave his paramour and his Sand Snakes." Her face must have shown her horror at the prospect. Even in Tarth, they had heard about the Viper, he was considered attractive and dangerous and a libertine. He would never be faithful, not only with his paramour but with anyone he took a fancy to. "Think about it, child, a Dornishman will never chastise you for fighting, nor would he want to meddle into the affairs of the island or wrestle control from you because of your sex. He'd give you heirs and not mind if you search companionship elsewhere when he's not around."

"Father--"

"There is a tourney in Dorne in a moon's turn, you've been invited by Prince Doran." He finally released the letter and took Brienne's hands in his again. "Go to Dorne and meet Prince Oberyn, you don't have to accept him as your husband, you are also free to participate in the tourney and to find a husband for your own. But please, for me, for Tarth, don't reject the offer until after."

Brienne swallowed painfully, throat clenching, and squeezed her father's hands. She couldn't believe her time with him was limited now, she couldn't believe his huge and caring heart was going to fail him so soon. He had tried to keep his word to her, it wasn't his fault that she was so undesirable and ugly the best she could do was being married for pity. But if she could keep her island, if she could keep her title, she would swallow her pride and do it. 

It was unlikely she met any man during the tournament who would want her. 

"I will go to Dorne," she said. 

"That's all I ask, my child, that's all I ask. Now, tell me, do you want me to commission you new armour for the tourney?"

Brienne let him change the subject, managing even a small smile for him while they discussed armour and sword and maybe even a new gown to take with her to Dorne. 

She would have time to cry later in her room.

…

The heat in Dorne was different from the one Brienne was used to, the scorching sun burning her skin where it was exposed, the dry air sticking in her throat as they rode from the harbour to Sunspear. It was the first time Brienne was away from Tarth on her own, and she kept looking around in wonder at the different landscape and buildings, the sandy expanse of Dornish desert in front of her and the different style clothing people wore around. She had to admit she liked it so far, more than she had expected when her father practically had to drag her to the harbour and shove her into a ship.

"You're expected before the tourney, Brienne," her father had said two days ago, lips pursed in annoyance. They had not spoken about it in the days since he revealed his illness to her, but it had been hanging over them. It had been obvious in the way she'd had to cut her training to start taking over Evenstar duties, in the pallor of his skin and his early nights, and in Lyllette's absence in the castle. Brienne was reluctant to leave him on his own, a sudden irrational fear he wouldn't be there when she returned. "You can't keep putting it off. I have already sent a raven to Doran to tell him you'll arrive in two days time, prepare everything you need tonight." He had softened then, clearly reading her expression correctly. "It's just a few days my child, I still have that much strength in me," he had assured her.

She had boarded the ship reluctantly and there had been someone waiting for her when she disembarked ready to take her to Sunspear, the port full of knights wanting to participate in the tournament, their heavy armour and swords conspicuous among all the silks favoured in the region. They rode in silence and Brienne was grateful when they made it to the white-walled castle, the unrelenting heat of the way making her long for the same garments she had admired previously. 

She was taken to a guest room in the castle by one of the servants. "Your things will be brought to you shortly, my lady," the servant said when they were inside. "Prince Doran sends his apologies that he can't receive you today as he's indisposed." It was no secret that Doran hardly received anyone because of his health and Brienne had not expected to be an exception, she wasn't offended. "Princess Elia has extended an invitation to sup with her and her companions later tonight, please rest after your travels. You have a bath already prepared and have been provided with some clothing as well if you wish to change before your things are brought from the ship."

Brienne thanked the servant and headed straight for the bath, she was uncomfortably dusty and sweaty and was grateful for their thoughtfulness. She had not expected such reception considering Sunspear was full of Lords and Ladies visiting for the tournament and Tarth wasn't an important house, but she was grateful all the same. She knew her father and Doran Martell had squired together and kept their friendship alive since then, though Doran's illness and his father's duties prevented them from travelling much. She had not imagined it would translate to this kind of special treatment and it made her feel self-conscious and wary of causing her father any embarrassment. She wondered whether Doran and Oberyn would find her wanting once they saw her, as all other men except her father did, and would reject the idea of joining their houses. 

After her bath she put on the clothes provided, a light silk tunic and trousers in a deep blue, surprised at how light they were and how well they fit, clinched her sword to her waist and decided to take a walk around before supper. It was early afternoon and she would only drive herself mad with worry if she stayed in her rooms.

The courtyards were teeming with people dressed in both the dornish and the westerosi style, and some in clothes Brienne didn't recognize obviously coming from Essos, their voices and laughs honeyed and too artificial, their smiles edged with unkindness. Brienne didn't do well in court, her only experience years ago in Storm's End had left her with no taste for it. She turned around and marched in the direction she remembered the stables were before anyone could remark on her presence. 

"I want to visit the tourney grounds," she said while the stable boy prepared her mount, and was given the best path to get there in return. 

The grounds were just a fifteen-minute ride from the castle, a wide expanse of open terrain under the unforgiving sun where stands and tents had already been erected. On one side a small forest of multicoloured tents had already many visitors, the merchants touting their wares and shouting to entice any passersby, on the other side were the training grounds and the knight's tents and stables. There were people already training on the grounds and many spectators cheering and jeering. Brienne headed for the stables and left her horse there, the sound of swords clashing calling her like a siren song. She was just going to watch, though, she doubted any of the men there would be willing to train with her.

She looked for a gap in the barrier where the watchers were leaning and found it next to two dark haired women dressed in the dornish style. She didn't pay much attention to them, though, her eyes already focused on two of the fighters in the grounds. They were the ones who were drawing most of the attention and Brienne could see why, they were both a level above anything she had ever seen, her hand itched for her sword.

Both fighters were tall and lean, wearing dornish tunics, one of them was a Dornishman with dark hair and a hooked nose dressed in Martell colours. He was fighting with a spear, his movements fluid and elegant and deadly like a serpent. Prince Oberyn, she realized, the description she knew of him fit perfectly with the man she was watching. The other fighter was blonde and wearing Lannister crimson, his golden curls framing the most beautiful face Brienne had seen, green eyes sparkling under the sun. He was using a golden sword, and not even a blunted tourney one, and the expression on his face was pure delight as he parried hit after hit with practised ease. That had to be Jaime Lannister, the Young Lion, and he was every bit as beautiful and skilled as the rumours put.

Brienne looked entranced at the deadly dance between the two of them; Oberyn was lithe and showy, his style almost as much fight as it was dance, his footwork chaotic enough to be unpredictable. Jaime was quick and graceful, like the lion on his sigil he moved on light feet but had the power in his arms to deliver hard blows. They were both panting and grinning, neither of them concerned by the tears and rips on their clothing their sharp swords were inflicting, the way they circled each other seeking the best attack betraying their familiarity with each other.

She was certain they would both participate in the melee and suddenly wanted nothing more than to test her steel against them; Ser Goodwin had always told her she was good but she had only ever fought against him and training dummies. She wanted, _she needed_ , to test her mettle against people like them. 

She wondered who else would be in the lists and reluctantly tore her eyes from them. Her heart almost stopped in her chest when she saw the next couple sparring.

_No. He couldn't be here._

Brienne took a step back, her heart pounding in her throat before she realized it wasn't Ronnet Connington. There was a red-headed man fighting in the grounds, but his hair was more ginger than copper falling in soft waves to his neck, his beard shot with strands of blond. He was taller and broader and more handsome than Connington, his face kind and his smile sincere, he was also clad in a silk tunic and trousers of deep green. 

And he was fighting a woman. _And losing_.

Brienne's eyes almost popped out of her sockets and she did a double-take.

The woman fighting against the ginger knight could not be mistaken by a man, unlike Brienne who usually was. She was Dornish, her dark hair and eyes and the bronzed skin as clear an indication as her dress was, and comfortable with the twin curved swords she was wielding. She moved with as much grace as any of the other fighters, and her hits were as precise if maybe not as strong. Brienne watched as they exchanged blow after blow, the ginger man driving the woman back for a moment until she twisted, a movement very similar to one Brienne had seen in Oberyn minutes before, and then she was the one putting the pressure on the man. 

Brienne's hands clenched on the wood of barrier, her body tense, her mouth half-opened. She had known that women in Dorne were allowed more liberties than the rest of Westeros, but seeing it like this drove the point in a way she wasn't expecting, that a woman could be fighting openly against a knight gave her hope that she could participate openly in the tournament, not as a mystery knight but as Brienne of Tarth. She ignored the rest of the fighters, kept looking as the woman circled the knight, a barrage of hits forcing him backwards. Instead of taking offence the knight laughed before he ducked under the twin swords, the edge of one of them brushing against his hair, and he countered and pushed back, gaining ground again. Around them, a groan rose and then a loud cheer, Brienne looked to the side for a moment to see Oberyn towering over the fallen Lannister, his spear at his throat for an instant before he moved it and extended his hand to help him up. 

She turned her eyes back to the other fight, and the knight had managed to make the woman drop one of her swords, though she wasn't giving up. 

"Come on, Addam," Jaime Lannister crowed stopping next to them to watch, obviously knowing the fighters. "You have to redeem the Westerland's pride."

The knight, Addam, didn't spare him any attention beyond an eye-roll until he had managed to completely disarm the woman. "Good thing one of us still can," he said with a smirk and he sheathed his sword and went to his side. 

Brienne had seen enough, she felt the excitement of watching a good fight in her veins, and wanted to check to make sure they were all participating and she would have a chance to meet them in the melee. And maybe learn the name of the woman, she would not refuse to train with Brienne, would she? 

"Would you look at that? _Brienne of Tarth_." Brienne was looking for the right tent when she heard the voice, the one she had never wanted to hear again. This time it really was him, Brienne had only heard his voice once in her life but it had burned itself in her memory. She was suddenly two and ten again, her face flaming with humiliation and her eyes burning with tears, a rose carelessly thrown at her feet while the man she had hoped would marry her sneered and insulted her. Her gut clenched and she froze, her hand gripping the pommel of her sword tight enough to leave the indents on her palm. She turned slowly and saw Ronnet Connington in a group of other knights, all of them sweltering in their armour and heavy doublets, leaning against the barrier with their back to the fighters in the grounds. She should have guessed he would be there, most non-landed knights participated in tournaments to get coin. "Trying to pass for a man to participate? You look enough like one. Or have you come here to look for a knight desperate enough to marry you?" 

The knights surrounding him laughed heartily as if he was the height of wit, and Brienne wanted to disappear, wanted to board the first ship back to Tarth and never leave again, wanted the ground to open and swallow her whole. She opened her mouth to retort, but her throat was clenching and her mouth was dry, there were no words she could find. 

"She's more of a knight than you," a new voice said. Brienne looked behind Connington to see Jaime Lannister and his friend, both of them looking at Connington with something like disgust. Behind them, Prince Oberyn and the woman were approaching as well. It was Lannister who spoke. "Since you don't know how to talk to a highborn lady."

"You--" Connington spat, whirling around, only to pale when he saw who was talking to him. 

Lannister lifted his eyebrows at him in a clear challenge and turned to Brienne, eyes widening in shock when he got a good look at her face. Brienne was used to that, though, and braced herself for the scorn and mocking words that were sure to follow. Men didn't jump to the defence of an ugly lady. 

Before he could say anything, though, Oberyn had reached the barrier. 

"Lady Brienne, we weren't expecting you until tonight, we're heading back to the palace now, I would be honoured if you would join us."

...


	2. The Young Lion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These past weeks have been hell for everyone, I hope all of you are safe and comfortable if you are in lockdown or self-isolating. Hopefully, for the long days at home, we'll always have fanfic.

Jaime knew it was bad from the moment his father's long arm reached him in Ashemark, the message in the raven imperious enough he couldn't ignore it anymore.

"I'll meet you in Sunspear," he said to Addam before mounting his horse.

"If your father doesn't throw you into the black cells until you accept his latest Lady Lannister hopeful," Addam said with a grin and Jaime shuddered theatrically. 

He wouldn't put it past Tywin, though.

He thought about little else during the ride to King's Landing, the one place in the Seven Kingdoms he usually avoided, trying to guess what his father would do this time to get him to marry and fearing the answer. He rode as fast as possible, he had intended to arrive at Sunspear with enough time to spend with everyone before the tournament and hated having to take longer because of his father's whims. 

He also hated having to present himself to the King and Queen, but same as heeding his father's summons, there was no way for him to avoid it.

He was dirty from the road and hungry when he arrived in the Red Keep, the guards had obviously been given instructions for when he'd get there. He ignored them and went straight to the rooms his father kept for him in the Tower of the Hand. Nothing had changed since the last time he'd been there two years before, the room was still richly decorated in red and gold, as if anyone would forget Tywin Lannister was the Hand of the King, and it was still as warm as the ones he stayed in that time he visited the Wall. He had something to eat while a servant prepared a bath for him and changed into the clean clothes he knew would be there. 

When he couldn't put it off any longer, lest Tywin himself descended upon him and dragged him to his solar by the ear like a recalcitrant child, Jaime found a servant to take him to his father. He was sitting at his desk, several scrolls and parchments were strewn all over the surface, his sour expression the same one Jaime remembered from the last time he had been there. Nothing had really changed, it felt as if Tywin was as timeless as the very stones of the Keep, as if his hair wouldn't dare go grey or wrinkles would set on his face. He looked up when Jaime entered, lips pursing and expression turning even sourer.

"Jaime, I was informed of your arrival two hours ago," he said in that way he had to demand an explanation without asking for it.

"I needed a bath," Jaime said simply, not apologizing. He wasn't one of Tywin's servants to jump to obey him. They stared at each other in silence for a long heartbeat, Jaime had to clench his fists not to fidget. "You wanted me to come?" he finally asked, the tension getting to him, and cursed himself for it.

Tywin leaned back on his chair, examining Jaime from the top of his golden curls to the last detail of his rich doublet, and finding him wanting if his expression was any indication. "Were you doing anything so important that you couldn't attend? I've heard from Kevan you haven't been in Casterly rock for over six moons."

"I was in Ashemark with Addam, we were about to go to Sunspear for a tourney."

Tywin's lips curled in distaste. " _A tourney_."

"Yes."

"I had hoped you would outgrow this silly phase of yours of tournaments and adventures and settle down in your rightful position, but I seem to have overestimated you once again," Tywin said, steepling his hands in front of his mouth and fixing Jaime with a piercing look. "You are five and twenty, a man grown and a Lord."

"No, I'm just a knight. You are the Lord," Jaime corrected him, "as you remind me every time you threaten to close the purse strings to call me to heel." Which he regularly tried, though Jaime had enough gold of his own from tournament wins that he had learned to ignore him.

This was an old argument, one they had rehashed over and over again. Jaime knew he was nothing but a disappointment for his father, that his only use was to extend the line and produce more Lannisters who Tywin could hopefully sell to other houses for power or mould into his image. Jaime had always been more interested in swordfights and knighthood than numbers and power games, he was one of the realm's greatest swordsmen and strategists, though his father found those skills useless in peacetime and his friendship with other houses, houses Tywin considered lesser than the Lannisters, unnecessary and demeaning. 

The Lion of Lannister wasn't supposed to have friends, just servants and lickspittles, like his father.

Tywin glared at him. "It's time you take your responsibilities to the Westerlands and to your family seriously. I have been very lenient with you, I have let you play around with your sword and your friends and allowed you the freedom to do so. It's time for you to marry and produce heirs."

Jaime swallowed. He had known it would come to this. It was their usual argument. Tywin, the great hypocrite, believed marrying for love was not something a highborn Lord would get to do. And yet, he had married for love and closed himself to anything resembling human warmth and affection once Joanna was dead, especially towards Jaime who people said was the spitting image of his mother. Not Cersei, though she was physically the same, she lacked Joanna's warmth.

"And you have the perfect bride? Not another Tully, I hope," Jaime said and Tywin's eyes narrowed in the way he had expected.

His engagement with Lysa Tully had been made when he was barely ten and five and recently knighted. She had not been flowered yet and Jaime had spent almost a whole year in Riverrun to get properly acquainted with her. He had and had not liked her as much as he liked Cat and their uncle Brynden, the famous Blackfish. Just for that, it had been worth it to be there and learn some things from him.

Jaime had not wanted to marry Lysa, though at the time he had not learned how to say no to his father yet, and with Cersei having just married as well he had not cared who he was sold to as long as it took him away from King's Landing and his sister. The Seven had smiled down on him; the night before their nuptials Lysa had been found in a compromising position with her father's ward, a weasel-faced lowborn boy who was always panting after Lysa's sister, Cat.

The betrothal had been broken, fortunately for Jaime, though the loss of face for his father had been hard to swallow. Lysa had been carted off to the Silent Sisters and Tywin had broken all relations with Hoster Tully. Jaime, on the other hand, was still friendly with the Blackfish and Cat, who had married into the Starks.

"You have been allowed too much freedom, that's been my mistake," Tywin said, his voice soft and cold, his jaw tight. "You will marry before your next nameday and go to Casterly Rock to take over the duties of Lord Lannister. Go to your tournament and play with your swords and horses one more time, and find yourself a highborn lady to marry there, that's all the leeway you'll get anymore. Find yourself a suitable bride in Dorne or I'll find one for you when you return."

His next nameday was in six moons, and his father's deadly tone left no doubt that he was being very serious.

"And if I don't?" Jaime said, he must have had a death wish, but he was tired and in a bad mood. He hated King's Landing and hated being ordered around. His father considered him a failure of an heir, something he had no problems letting him know, but he had definitely inherited the Lannister pride.

"You will do as you're told," Tywin said sharply. "You are my heir and you will take your place. Don't push me on this, or do you think I don't know where you're hiding your brother and that whore he married." Jaime felt his blood turning to ice in his veins, his stomach turning. _Tyrion_ , that was his father's triumph card. "You thought yourself so smart getting them out of Lannisport and into Sunspear, getting them settled under Martell protection and giving your gold from the tournaments to him so he could keep sulling the Lannister name by having a litter of bastards and monsters. You thought I wouldn't know you had turned to one of your friends when you decided to defy me over him?"

It had been some years ago already and Tywin had not made any mention of Tyrion since the day he had learned he married a lowborn woman and had tried to get Jaime to lie to him, to convince him Tysha was a whore because that was the only way he could get love, paying for it. Instead, Jaime had lied to his father and smuggled his brother away from the Westerlands and Tywin's long reach; he had known his father wouldn't be happy with just breaking his brother's heart, not with how much he hated him. Jaime had taken his father to a burned-out hovel where he'd thrown his brother's and Tysha's possessions along with some bodies, including the soldiers that had chased Tysha when they met her, and had let the place tell the story for him. Tywin had not said anything, just nodded once and turned around, not one tear shed for what he thought was his son's body.

That had been the last straw for Jaime, he had realized his father cared nothing for any of them except as tools to advance the family name. He had believed Tyrion would be safe in Dorne, where they had long memories and knew how to hold grudges, and the prideful Martell had been insulted by Tywin before. 

Jaime had been too naive once again, his father had only allowed him that illusion for as long as it was useful to him.

"They are not bastards," was what Jaime said, his voice distant and faint. "They are your legitimate grandchildren." And heirs, he didn't add. As it stood if anything happened to Jaime, Tyrion's son was the future Lord Lannister. Cersei's children were not Lannister, after all.

"I would rather see Kevan and his children inherit the Rock if you choose to keep defying me." He didn't need to spell what that would mean for Tyrion and his family, and Jaime knew he would not hesitate. Not Tywin. "You will marry before your name day, and you will take your legitimate place as my heir and do your duty to your family. Am I clear?"

"Yes, _Father_ ," Jaime said, hatred seething in his veins in a way he had not felt before. 

"Good, now change into more appropriate clothes, we are expected for supper with the King and Queen."

Jaime nodded woodenly and excused himself, a bitter taste in the back of his throat. 

Just to make the day even worse, dinner with Cersei and Rhaegar. 

…

The little house in the merchant quarter in Sunspear was everything the big and cold corridors and rooms of Casterly Rock were not; it was small and cosy and full of laughter and warmth in a way Jaime couldn't remember the last time he had felt back home, books and parchments covering every available surface and some not so available, half-finished embroidery projects taking up what little space the books allowed. He had come straight here as soon as he arrived in Dorne, not even bothering checking in with Addam and Oberyn. He would have time to do that on the morrow, had felt the need to see his brother since that unsettling conversation with Tywin.

Tyrion hadn't changed much in the moons he hadn't seen him. Tysha, on the other hand, was already showing a gentle curve in her belly, her face as radiant as Jaime had ever seen with the glow of motherhood women supposedly got. 

Tyrion had taken just one look at his brother as soon as he opened the door and ushered him in without a word after a long hug, grabbing a carafe of Dornish red and serving a goblet for Jaime and another for himself.

"You look like you need this," he said, taking a seat opposite of his brother while Tysha went to pick up Geris from his crib. She put the sleepy babe in Jaime's arms, smiling at the way he held him so carefully, and left them to go to the kitchen.

Jaime looked at the tiny face of his little nephew and felt some tension easing from his shoulders. "Father summoned me," he said, all the explanation his brother needed. He remembered Tywin well enough. "Then I had to enjoy dinner with our sister and the King." The dinner had been stilted and uncomfortable, Jaime had felt beset by enemies in all flanks, Rhaegar's presence the friendliest one if only because of his indifference. "I've been given an ultimatum: I have to marry before my next nameday or forfeit my inheritance," he added, looking back up at his brother. Jaime had decided on the way to Dorne that he was not telling the truth about Tywin's threats. At least not to Tyrion. There was no reason to, it would only make Tyrion feel guilty and helpless and wouldn't achieve anything.

He looked at Jaime with sympathy now. "Has he already chosen a candidate for you?"

Jaime shook his head. "Not yet, I can choose one during the tournament otherwise, he will."

"I'm sure there will be many pretty ladies attending the lists," Tysha said, taking the seat next to Tyrion and taking his hand in hers. "Handsome man like you can find one easily."

Jaime wished it was that easy, he didn't want just any pretty lady. If that was all he was after he would have been married years ago. What he wanted was something more, he wanted someone he could talk to but also someone who could keep up with him and understood his sense of humour, who challenged him and didn't bow before his father and sister. He wanted what his brother had, someone who loved him with his flaws as well as his virtues. He wanted what Oberyn and Ellaria had, trust and love and passion that sparked when they were together. Jaime had never been able to get even a stirring of desire for any of the ladies introduced to him regardless of how pretty they were. He definitely didn't want a simpering lady who was in awe of Lord Lannister or one that wanted his titles, like the few hopefuls his father had introduced him to through the years.

"If I managed to find myself a good woman, it can't be that difficult, brother," Tyrion added, looking adoringly at his wife.

"You were lucky," Jaime said sincerely. He turned to Tysha with a smile. "What do you see in him? He's always buried in books and covered in dust. Are you sure you don't want a knight instead of a scholar? We're better with our hands."

She laughed, bright and happy, while Tyrion spluttered in mock offence. "Oh, he's good enough with them," she winked at Jaime and he laughed, finally expelling all the poison he'd brought from King's Landing with him.

He spent the night in their small room, watching over his sleeping nephew until his eyes were too heavy to keep open. He dreamt of his sister, not the Queen, but the one who had been his other half growing up, the girl who would swap clothes with him and play hide and seek around the many rooms of Casterly Rock. The one he had loved beyond all reason. 

He still missed that girl though he was no longer convinced she had existed beyond his imagination. 

Jaime hadn't been surprised Cersei was with child again when he saw her after two years, looking radiant in her black and red gown and standing next to her husband, the tiny face of their daughter peeking around her skirts before a servant picked her up and took her to her room to sleep. She had looked like the statues of the Mother in the Septs, beautiful and coldly remote, carved in marble and just as soft.

"Brother," she had said when Jaime and Tywin arrived, presenting her hand for him to kiss. Jaime had because he had not forgotten his manners so much as to offend the Queen. He had bowed deeply and brushed his lips over the soft skin of her hand. "It's been too long."

 _Not long enough_ , Jaime had thought but held his tongue. 

Once upon a time he would have embraced her, would have held his sister as close as humanly possible and breathed in her hair, feeling only complete when he was with her. Once upon a time she had whispered in his ear her secrets and her dreams, had told him that nothing in the world mattered but them, that they were one soul in two bodies and would always be together. Once upon a time, Aerys Targaryen had been King and he had thought Cersei below his son's notice just to spite Tywin. Aerys had had too many enemies, though, and his desire to spite Tywin had delivered him into the hands of one of them. Denys Darklyn had done the realm a favour by capturing him, holding him prisoner for moons while Tywin and Rhaegar tried to save him. 

The Mad King had died during his rescue attempt. 

There had been many rumours then that Tywin and Rhaegar had planned it together to remove Aerys, who was losing touch with reality, from the throne, but nobody had really mourned him. 

Then Rhaegar had cemented his alliance with Tywin by marrying Cersei as soon as she was flowered. That had been the moment Jaime had realized some things mattered to his sister more than he did, though he was supposed to hold her above everything, even himself and their little brother.

"We should run away together," he had told Cersei before her wedding. "That way we can be together, always." He had tried to embrace her and kiss her the way she had done to him before. 

Cersei had pushed him away. "What are you doing?" She had hissed, putting more distance between them. "What if someone sees you? I'm about to marry the King, you are being inappropriate."

"He doesn't matter," Jaime had said, confused. That was what she always said, what she had repeated for years. " _Only us._ "

"Don't be stupid. Rhaegar is the King and I'm to be his Queen," Cersei had said, speaking to him as if he was being deliberately slow.

Jaime had understood then. He might not be as book smart as Tyrion, or as cunning as their father, but he was far from stupid. That had been the first rip in their relationship, Jaime's closeness to Tyrion had been the next one. The final one had been his refusal to stay in King's Landing; Cersei had wanted Jaime to stay with them, as a squire to Arthur Dayne or another Kingsguard, and once he had been knighted and couldn't squire anymore, she had tried to convince him to join the Kingsguard. She had even come to him one night and sneaked into his rooms, Jaime had refused her and their relationship had become strained, Cersei had never forgiven him the rejection.

Then she had married Rhaegar and stopped caring; the girl who used to say nothing but them mattered had stared indifferently at him, a crown on her head and eyes only for her husband.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay another day?" Tysha asked him in the morning after they broke their fast. Jaime was sure he still looked tired, he had spent most of the night tossing and turning thinking about the past and about his father's ultimatum.

"I want to check the lists, and I told Addam I would meet him here. He must be wondering whether Father really tossed me into a cell."

"The old Lannister charm," Tyrion said with a shudder. "Come with Addam for supper one of these nights?"

Jaime nodded and leaned forward to kiss his brother's brow, then his little nephew's. He stood and pressed a kiss to Tysha's cheek.

"I'll send word with a servant when we're coming."

He left before they could convince him to stay for longer, the streets of Sunspear already filled with all kinds of people ready for the tournament. The excitement was palpable in the air, laughter and cheers and all the taverns spilling people on the streets. Sunspear castle was also full of people, though the guards recognized Jaime on sight and directed him to his usual rooms. Addam was already there, the mess strewn around the common areas was enough indication though he was nowhere to be seen. Jaime left his things after changing clothes and went in search of his wayward friend and their hosts. 

It wasn't difficult to find them, of course they were already going at it in the training grounds, and they had acquired a few spectators. Addam was clashing swords with a two-bit knight who was so below his skill it was laughable, Jaime saw and dismissed them immediately. Addam would end that bout as soon as he saw he had arrived. Next to them, Ellaria was trying to murder Oberyn, a snarl on her face and her twin swords aiming to kill. Jaime's eyebrow's shot up his forehead, Oberyn had a narrow-eyed look and a clenched jaw while he blocked her with his spear, teeth grinding so hard Jaime was sure he'd be able to hear them if he was closer. 

Leaning against the barrier, the spectators were staring with bated breath in case their prince died there. Jaime went straight to the two women watching from the side, their dark heads together as they whispered among themselves. 

"Did your brother go to Madames Sherly's without Ellaria again, Lady Estermon?" He turned to the other woman and inclined his head in greeting. "Lady Baratheon."

"You're late, _Lord Lannister_ ," Elia said, looking at him quickly over her shoulder and returning her attention to the fight again. "We were beginning to think your father had you in shackles."

"Addam was planning a rescue already," Lyanna said, approaching him to place a soft kiss on his cheek. "He was pining without you."

Jaime leaned against the barrier next to Lyanna, glad of her presence there. He hadn't seen her for a long time and he had missed her. Jaime had met her in Riverrun during the year he spent there, Lyanna Stark was the headstrong sister of Cat's intended and had been promised to Robert Baratheon when she was barely a babe. They were the same age, and Lyanna had been also more interested in the Blackfish and in training with the squires than in learning embroidery with Lysa and Cat. They had struck a competitive sort of friendship, clashing swords in the yard and vying for Brynden's favour, much to the Tullys amusement. 

Lyanna had confessed to him, shortly before Cat's wedding, that she misliked her betrothed. 

"He's Ned's friend and everybody likes him," she had whispered one afternoon, both of them lying on the grass letting the sweat cool off their bodies after a very intense bout. Jaime hadn't liked Robert Baratheon, he was too loud and too jovial and too drunk. He had laughed at Lyanna when he'd seen her with a sword, dismissing her skill by saying she was a woman and would always have him to protect her, she didn't need steel and she wasn't as strong as he, after all. "He's been breeding bastards up and down the Vale and the Stormlands as if trying to create his own army, he's never going to be faithful to one woman. Even one he claims to love. He doesn't really care for me, just the ideal woman he has created in his head who wears my face. When I grow big or old he won't care for me even that much, and there will be many whores to take my place."

She hadn't sounded sad but angry and after that, she had fought harder for each victory against Jaime, as if trying to punish his sex for what was done to hers. He hadn't been able to console her, he might be a man but Jaime didn't have a choice about his marriage either. 

He had been fortunate in the end. Lyanna hadn't.

It hadn't been a long marriage; just a few years into it Robert and some of his bannermen, Aemon Estermon among them, had perished during a raid by the Ironborn. Lyanna, who had just given birth to the future Lord Baratheon, and Elia had grown very close during their mourning.

Jaime thought, wistfully, that if he could ask any of them to marry him he would, though now they were widows they would be crazy to accept the rule of a man when they were heads of their houses until their children were men grown.

"He better get used to pining," Jaime said, shaking himself out of his dark thoughts. He had just arrived, he should at least try to enjoy himself a bit. "I'll have to marry and go back to the Rock by my nameday or face my father's wrath."

Lyanna and Elia exchanged a look. "It must be going around."

Jaime made an inquiring noise, not turning his eyes from the potential bloodbath. 

"The reason Ellaria is trying to take my brother's head off is that he might be marrying soon as well." In the grounds, Ellaria drove Oberyn to his knees with a series of vicious blows and kicked his spear away before she stormed out. "If she doesn't kill him first."

...

It took two whole days of tense silences, heated glares, and sex that was probably more violent than their fights for Ellaria and Oberyn to go back to normal. Jaime steered clear of them during that time, spending as much time as he could with Elia and Lyanna.

"She's being irrational," Oberyn said as they rode back to the training grounds, he had some bites like bruises on his neck, and he was displaying them proudly like badges of honour. Things had obviously improved between the two them. "She knows it's got nothing to do with me." 

Jaime shot him a look, Elia had been very sparse on details when he hounded her for them. "It's your betrothal."

"The Evenstar's daughter and sole heir needs a husband and she can't find one," Oberyn explained. Jaime wondered what was wrong with her that with Tarth as a prize, she was still unmarried and his father desperate enough to consider Oberyn. "My brother and the Evenstar are old friends, Doran offered the possibility but neither of us had accepted anything. I don't know her, I've heard she's ugly and mannish and a bore, but I don't care about those things." Beauty was relative, and if there was a person who could find it anywhere, it was Oberyn. It was one of the reasons he ended up siring so many bastards, though Ellaria had curved most of his worst habits. "I won't be marrying anyone unless Ellaria and I like her. And she has to accept us both."

Jaime looked at the woman walking towards the stables with them now and was certain Oberyn was going to like her. Ellaria as well. 

He had seen her as soon as he'd finished his fight with Oberyn. It was hard to miss her leaning on the barrier next to Elia and Lyanna, a head taller than either of them and with shoulders that looked as broad as his. He hadn't properly seen her face in the distance, just an impression of pale hair and white skin before she moved from where she had been intently watching Ellaria's fight against Addam. 

She looked somehow smaller now, her shoulders hunched and her face a homely splotchy red after the thing that red-headed twat had said. Jaime hated men that were rude to women, though he could be very rude himself sometimes according to his brother, but never like that, never so vicious and unprovoked just make himself feel bigger.

Brienne of Tarth, the twat had called her, had flaxen hair falling to her shoulders and a broad face covered in freckles, a nose that had clearly been broken before and a big and wide mouth. She had big hands clenched into fists and was wearing a dornish tunic and breeches in blue, a sword tied to her waist. Jaime wondered whether she knew how to use that sword, with her size she could be as challenging as Addam or Oberyn.

She also had the bluest eyes Jaime had ever seen, so clear and beautiful he had almost missed a step when he'd seen them.

Jaime had been unable to stop staring at her or to say anything else, staring at her like a fool. He had the absurd thought that she would look good in Lannister crimson, though of course, he wasn't going to get to find out. 

Brienne of Tarth had been promised to Oberyn after all. 

...


End file.
